Archive of Our Own

Bright red, pink, and purple lights flashed across the room in hypnotic waves, cutting through the artificial fog rising from the smoke machines in the corners. Pop music exploded from the speakers, remixed with electronic beats that made the floor vibrate. The sweet smell of spilled drinks mixed with the sweat and expensive perfume of bodies moving in sync with the night. The team was scattered—some already lucky, dancing close to pretty girls who smiled with their arms wrapped around their necks; others, the taken ones, formed circles with their friends, drinking and laughing with the lightness of those who had just achieved the impossible.

"Give me your phone."

Elena held out her open hand toward Scott. They were all sprawled on a burgundy leather sofa, worn from use but comfortable, with a round glass table in the center covered in coasters and empty ashtrays. Scott frowned, his arm stretched along the backrest behind Kip, who was snuggled against his side. Vaughny, on the opposite end, was typing something on his own phone with his thumb, his eyes glued to the screen.

"I'm serious," Elena insisted, her fingers tapping impatiently.

"Why?" Scott asked, but he was already reaching into his jeans pocket and handing over the device. She tucked it away inside her purse, a small, sparkly thing she placed strategically between herself and Kip on the worn leather of the sofa.

"Damage control. You are banned from social media today. And tomorrow too." Her voice was firm, but the accompanying smile was all grace.

Carter took his eyes off his phone for a moment, observed the scene, and tucked the device into his back pocket as he stood up.

"Whose tab is it on tonight?"

"The captain's!" Vaughny sang, poking Scott's shoulder with his index finger before stretching like he was about to face a crowd. "What do you want? I'll go get it."

Elena tilted her head, thoughtful for a moment, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as if consulting an imaginary menu.

"A Cosmo. Make it strong," she decided.

"Do you guys want anything?" Carter pointed to the couple on the couch.

"Beer," they answered in unison, so synchronized that Elena snorted a laugh.

Carter nodded and dove into the crowd, clearing a path with the ease of someone who was in his element. Elena followed him with her eyes until he disappeared into the tangle of sweaty bodies, and then gave a slight, calculated shrug to herself.

"You bitch," Kip accused as soon as he realized what was happening. "You're enjoying Carter flirting with you!"

"Obviously," Elena replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you the only one allowed to have fun with a handsome hockey player?"

"Elena, Carter is a womanizer," Scott intervened, his warning tone barely hiding the smile that stubbornly spread across his face. "I love him, so much. But he's bad news."

"And who said I'm good news?" she countered, raising her eyebrows in a playful challenge.

The couple exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

"Okay, that was a good one," Scott admitted, still laughing, as he pulled Kip closer. His boyfriend settled against his shoulder, his curls brushing against Scott's jaw. "But be careful. Vaughny has a... complicated track record."

"We all do." Elena shrugged, her eyes now lost in the crowd, searching for her promised Cosmo. "The difference is I'm not looking for Prince Charming. I'm looking for a good story to tell on Monday."

Kip snorted against Scott's shoulder.

"She talks tough, but when she falls in love, she turns into an absolute melt. I've seen it."

"Shut up, Kip." Elena pointed a finger at her friend, but her smile gave away the lack of venom. "You live permanently attached to the athlete over here, and you want to judge me?"

"I'm not judging. I'm observing." Kip raised his hands in surrender. "It's my favorite hobby."

Scott laughed softly, the vibration echoing in his chest. The music shifted to something slower, with deeper bass, and for a moment he just existed right there: Kip warm against his side, the euphoria of the victory still buzzing in his veins, the flashes of hate outside temporarily forgotten.

"Eternal hatred to social media," Elena muttered, as if reading his thoughts. She pulled her phone into her lap, took a quick look, and scoffed. "They're talking shit, obviously. But there are also a LOT of people supporting you. I'm taking screenshots of the best ones to show you tomorrow."

"You don't have to," Scott said, though the gratitude was clear in his voice.

"I know. But I'm going to do it anyway."

Carter emerged from the crowd like a fish breaking the surface, three glasses balanced in his hands with a skill that only came from practice at clubs. He handed the Cosmo to Elena with an exaggerated bow, gave the beers to Scott and Kip, and then threw himself onto the couch next to the girl, closer than strictly necessary.

"Your drink, m'lady," he said, in a fake British accent.

"Thank you, kind sir." Elena accepted the glass, her fingers brushing his for a second longer than chance would dictate.

Kip exchanged a look with Scott, his eyebrows raised in silent eloquence. Scott answered with a slight shake of his head, but his smile lingered.

"So, you guys good?" Carter asked, already taking a swig of his own beer—a third one that Scott hadn't even noticed him holding. "Managed to escape Gina. Remember Gina, Scott? Redhead, easy smile, dances like..."

"I remember," Scott cut in, a little too quickly. "She asked me if you were single once. I told her I didn't know what was worse: lying or telling the truth."

"Fair enough." Carter laughed, entirely shameless. "She's already found another target. Thought I better bail before I became a hostage to her chatting again."

"Coward," Elena teased, swirling the pink liquid in her glass.

"Strategic," Carter corrected, and his eyes met hers for a moment that lasted too long to be casual.

The music exploded into a familiar chorus, and some nearby players shouted the lyrics in unison, glasses raised high. Scott felt Kip shift against him, and when he looked down, his boyfriend was watching him with a soft expression, almost too intimate for the middle of a nightclub.

"What?" Scott asked quietly.

"Nothing." Kip smiled. "Just... processing. You. All of this."

"Process fast, because the night is young." Scott tilted his head and pressed a kiss into the top of Kip's curly hair. "And I promised to get you drunk."

"I was the one who promised that," Elena corrected, though her smile belonged to someone wholly satisfied with how the night was going.

Carter leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms along the backrest, one of them hovering dangerously close to Elena's shoulders.

"You know what I'm thinking?" he announced, his tone implying he was going to say it regardless of their answer.

"What?" Kip took the bait.

"That this is the first of many." Carter looked at Scott, his smile softer than usual. "Victories. Celebrations. Nights like this. And you, Captain, are going to have to put up with us being around. With or without a mob of haters at the door."

Scott felt a tightness in his chest—but it was a good kind of tight. The kind that reminds you you're not alone.

"I hope so," he answered simply.

He raised his beer in a silent toast that the other three mirrored. Elena's glass was the first to come down. And then a dance remix of I Really Don’t Care started playing. Elena's eyes widened, and she took a big gulp from her glass, nearly finishing it.

"Christopher Grady, we are going to dance!" she declared, already pulling her friend by the arm. Kip laughed out loud, taking one last swig of his beer before being dragged by Elena toward the dance floor. Scott and Carter chuckled at the scene.

Vaughny took that as an opportunity and slid across the circular sofa until he was right next to his friend.

"So..."

"Nope."

Scott shut it down before the sentence was even finished, taking a long drink of his beer while keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. On the dance floor, Elena and Kip had already been swallowed by the crowd, but he could still see the top of his boyfriend's curly head bouncing to a questionable rhythm.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!" Carter protested, his tone dripping with exaggerated indignation.

"You were going to ask something about Elena." Scott turned his head slowly, looking right through his friend. "But I'm not saying a word."

Carter opened his mouth to reply, but Scott didn't give him the chance.

"You know you're a player, and I'm not going to help you hook up with a friend of mine and Kip's."

"But..."

"Am I lying?"

Vaughny grimaced, his lips twitching into a defeated expression before he looked away and took a sip of his beer. The silence between them was filled by the pulsing music and the distant laughter from the floor.

They both watched the scene unfolding ahead: Elena was holding onto Kip's shoulders while she jumped, her hair flying in every direction, and Kip kept her close with a protective arm around her waist, laughing at something she was shouting off-key. They were singing the Demi Lovato lyrics together, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

"I don't know..." Carter started, hesitant. His gaze was fixed in Elena's direction. "I've been thinking about... settling down."

Scott's eyes widened. He turned his head slowly, as if he needed time to process the words that had just come out of his friend's mouth.

"Carter Vaughn?" His voice came out higher than normal. "Settling down?"

Carter held his gaze for two seconds before looking away, a flush creeping up his neck.

"What's in your beer, man?"

"Nothing!" Carter defended himself a little too quickly. "I'm serious, Scott. I'm almost thirty, I've already won everything I could ever dream of by this age..." He paused, his fingers tracing the neck of the bottle. "I don't want to hit forty alone, you know? Niel is twenty-two and already has two kids. Two! I'm twenty-seven and I don't even have a parrot to keep me company."

Scott rested his elbow on the back of the sofa, turning his body to face his friend fully.

"Since when do you think about this?"

"Since I saw you with Kip." Carter admitted, his voice quieter now. "It looks... I don't know. Easy. Good. You two." He shrugged, embarrassed. "I know it sounds stupid."

"It doesn't," Scott replied, his tone softening. "But you barely know Elena, man."

"I know." Carter rubbed a hand over his face. "And I know my reputation. But... she's different. She looked at me like I was just another guy. Not a Stanley Cup player. Not the team's Vaughny. Just... a guy."

Scott watched his friend for a long moment. The music shifted to something more upbeat, and from the dance floor, Elena let out an excited scream that cut across the room.

"You're going to have to work really hard," Scott said finally. "Elena isn't the type to settle for crumbs. She will destroy you."

"I know." Carter smiled, a bit sheepishly. "That's why I'm interested."

"And if she doesn't want to?"

"Then I'll deal with it, it won't be my first rejection." Carter shrugged, but there was something in his eyes that Scott hadn't seen in years. Not since before the fame, before the contracts, before everything. "But if I don't try, I'll be wondering forever."

Scott clinked his beer bottle against his friend's in a silent toast.

"Just don't fuck with her heart," he warned. "Because then you'll have to deal with me."

"Fair enough." Carter laughed, but the laugh was different. More contained. More real.

On the dance floor, Elena pointed in their direction and shouted something that got lost in the music. Kip waved, laughing, and Scott waved back.

"Come on." Carter stood up, offering his hand to his friend. "Let's dance. You two have been glued to each other since you got here, and tonight is about celebrating."

"I don't dance," Scott protested, even as he was already accepting the outstretched hand.

"Yes, you do." Carter pulled his friend up. "You only didn't dance because you were in the closet. Now you have no excuse."

Scott rolled his eyes, but the smile was inevitable. He left his beer on the table and followed his friend toward the dance floor, pushing through sweaty bodies until he found Kip, who lit up entirely upon seeing him arrive.

"Look who decided to show up!" Kip shouted over the music, his arms already looping around Scott's neck.

"I was kidnapped," Scott replied, but his hands naturally found his boyfriend's waist.

Beside them, Carter stopped in front of Elena with an uncharacteristic hesitation.

"May I?"

Elena tilted her head, evaluating him for a second that seemed to last an eternity. Then she reached out and pulled Vaughny by the open buttons of his shirt.

"If you can keep up."

The smile that broke across Carter's face looked like he had just won the Cup all over again.

Kip laughed, a soft sound against the pounding backdrop of the music, and turned to Scott—who was already watching him with an intensity that seemed to defy the strobe lights flashing around them. They danced to the sound of Could Have Been Me, their bodies moving to a rhythm that was entirely their own, intimate in the midst of the chaos. Kip's fingers trailed lightly upward, grazing the nape of Scott's neck before getting lost in the hair at the base of his skull. They both smiled, staring at each other as if the rest of the club had faded into the background.

"I wanna taste love and pain..." The music filled the space between them.

"I wanna feel pride and shame..." Scott hummed quietly, just for Kip, the lyrics taking on a whole new meaning that night.

Kip laughed again, closer now, his face tilted toward his boyfriend. His curls brushed Scott's forehead as he whispered, almost closing the distance:

"Can I kiss you?"

Scott's smile widened, his eyes shining with something that went beyond the euphoria of the victory.

"Without a doubt..."

Their lips met, and a warm wave rushed up Scott's spine—electric, vibrant, real. For the second time that night, he was kissing Kip in public. Something that, hours before, had seemed like a distant dream, a "maybe someday" that he never had the courage to truly visualize. But now it was here. His hands firm on his boyfriend's waist, his lips against his, the taste of alcohol mixing in their mouths as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Beside them, Carter and Elena danced close—her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands on her waist, both moving to a slow rhythm that didn't match the fast beat, but worked in a strangely perfect way. Elena tilted her head back, laughing at something Carter whispered near her ear, and Vaughny used the movement to press a quick kiss to the exposed curve of her neck.

She didn't pull away.

Scott felt Kip's smile against his lips before the kiss deepened. The world could be falling apart outside—the screams, the torn jersey, the venomous comments that Elena was keeping at bay by confiscating his phone. But here, right now, on the dance floor at Parallel, with Kip in his arms and the music saying everything they had always wanted to scream, none of it mattered.

"Never look back and say: could have been me..."

Kip pulled his face back just enough to rest his forehead against Scott's, his eyes still closed, his warm breath against the other's lips.

"We're really doing this," he murmured, as if he needed to hear it out loud to believe it.

"I'm right here," Scott replied, his thumb tracing circles on the curve of Kip's back over his shirt. "We're right here."

Kip opened his eyes. They were dark in that light, speckled with purple and red reflections from the club's strobes.

"I'm scared," he admitted, softly. Just for Scott.

"Me too." Scott didn't hesitate. "But I'm happier than I am scared. And that's new."

Kip smiled, a wet gleam in the corners of his eyes, and pulled Scott in for another kiss. Slower. Deeper. As if they had all the time in the world.

When they parted again, the music had already shifted to something more electronic, and Elena appeared out of nowhere between them, slinging an arm around each of them.

"You guys are gross," she declared, though her smile was massive. "I love it. Keep going."

"Where's Carter?" Scott asked, noticing his friend's absence.

Elena gestured vaguely with her head toward the bar.

"Went to get more drinks. I sent him." She winked. "A test. I wanted to see if he'd come back."

"And did he?" Kip asked, already laughing.

"Not yet. But if he does..." She shrugged, looking mysterious. "We'll see."

Scott exchanged a look with Kip, and the three of them burst into laughter. There, in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by strangers and friends, with the taste of victory and beer in their mouths, nothing felt impossible anymore.

[...]

Right in the building’s lobby, the yellowed light of the old chandelier bathed the cold marble floor. Juan, the doorman, stood behind the dark wooden desk as always, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. When he saw Scott and Kip walk in holding hands, he slowly removed the glasses and let out a wheezy little chuckle beneath his gray mustache—a sound that carried decades of condominium secrets.

Scott simply waved toward the old man, a casual gesture, and the two of them crossed the lobby toward the row of elevators. The click of Scott’s shoes against the marble was the only sound besides the distant music drifting from some apartment.

“Not like he hasn’t known about us for years.” Kip murmured, his voice slightly slurred from the alcohol still warm in his veins. He leaned into Scott’s body, hands finding support on his broad shoulders.

“Juan knows everything in this building.” Scott slipped an arm around Kip’s waist, pulling him closer as they faced the closed elevator doors. “Who lives where, who’s stealing whose parking spot in the basement, which neighbor’s cheating on her husband with the maintenance guy…”

Kip lifted his face from Scott’s shoulder, eyes widening in comic shock.

“Oh, tell me it’s Moira from 912!” A drunken smile was already spreading across his lips.

Scott tilted his head, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“It’s Pamela from 833.”

Kip went slack-jawed. Literally. His jaw dropped as he processed the information.

“But Arvin is such a nice guy…” The defense came out almost childlike, a protest against the cosmic injustice of a good man being cheated on.

“Yeah.” Scott leaned closer, his warm breath mixed with beer brushing Kip’s skin. “But maybe Matthew’s better with tools.”

The mischievous grin that followed made Kip hold his breath for a moment.

“Maybe he knows how to handle a wrench better…”

The sound of the elevator arriving cut through the air. The doors opened with a soft ping, revealing the mirrored interior. Scott pulled Kip inside with a decisive tug, pressed the penthouse button with his thumb, and before the doors had even finished closing, he already had his boyfriend against the cool wood-paneled wall.

“Oh, yeah…” Kip whispered, dark eyes in the dim elevator light.

His hand found the back of Scott’s neck, pulling him down in a movement that was both urgent and lazy. Their lips met in a kiss that started fiery and only deepened, the taste of beer and the lingering sweetness of Elena’s cosmopolitan blending into a flavor that was already theirs. Scott pressed Kip’s body against his, one hand on his waist, the other braced against the wall beside his boyfriend’s head, forming an enclosure that felt more like possession than protection.

The elevator rose in silence, the soft hum of the motor filling the space as the floors passed unnoticed. Kip bit Scott’s lower lip, tugging it with his teeth, and heard the muffled groan that escaped in response.

“Good thing Juan already knows everything,” Kip murmured against Scott’s mouth, a stubborn drunk smile forming. “Because this elevator has a camera.”

Scott froze for a second. Then he laughed, his forehead dropping against Kip’s.

“Shit.”

“Relax.” Kip ran a hand across Scott’s chest, feeling the rapid beating beneath the shirt. “He’s seen worse. Pamela from 833, remember?”

Scott snorted a laugh and captured Kip’s mouth again, less urgent now, slower. Deeper. As if he had the whole night ahead of him—and he did.

The elevator chimed, announcing the penthouse. For a moment neither of them moved—only their quick breathing filling the tiny space, their eyes locked as if the outside world had ceased to exist. Then Scott slid his hand slowly down Kip’s chest, tracing the line of muscle beneath the thin shirt, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric.

“Greg was right…” Scott whispered, his voice hoarse, heavy with something deeper than alcohol. “I’m climbing the walls…”

Kip smiled, a slow, wicked smile that promised everything, and the two of them finally broke their stillness, stepping out of the elevator into the penthouse’s private hallway. The silence there was absolute—only the soft carpet muffling their steps and the indirect glow of the wall sconces.

Scott typed the door code with fingers that trembled slightly, each beep echoing in the empty corridor. Kip took advantage of the distraction. He tilted his head and began kissing his boyfriend’s neck—first gently, almost innocently, then with more pressure, his lips finding the exact spot where jaw met neck, the skin warm and salty.

Scott gasped, a sound that escaped before he could stop it. His free hand rose to grip the back of Kip’s neck firmly, fingers burying into the curls as his body responded to the kisses with shivers traveling down his spine. The code finished automatically, the lock clicking in response.

He pulled the handle.

They staggered inside like a wave finally breaking through a barrier, their coats already forgotten, slipping off their shoulders and falling in a heap on the entryway floor. The door shut behind them with a heavy click, sealing the world outside.

Scott didn’t waste time. His hand still on Kip’s neck pulled his boyfriend’s face back to his, their lips colliding in a hungry battle. It was different from the kisses in the elevator—there was no camera here, no audience, nothing but the two of them and the vast apartment stretching through the dim light, the city’s glow pouring through the living room windows like a private constellation.

Kip shoved Scott against the newly closed door with a sharp movement, their bodies pressed together as his hands slid beneath Scott’s shirt. Warm palms against bare skin pulled a guttural groan from Scott, who answered by tugging Kip’s shirt upward, needing more, needing everything.

“I haven’t touched you properly in weeks…” Kip murmured against Scott’s lips, his voice breaking halfway. “Fucking playoffs.”

“They’re over.” Scott replied, yanking Kip’s shirt over his head in a movement that had no delicacy at all. “They’re over.”

The shirt flew into some dark corner. Scott’s hands found bare skin, sliding down Kip’s back, nails digging lightly as he pulled him closer—as if that were still possible, as if they weren’t already pressed together.

Kip’s mouth left his to trail down his jaw, his neck, finding his collarbone in a kiss that was also a light bite. Scott threw his head back, bumping softly against the door, but he felt no pain—only more heat, more urgency.

“Bed…” he managed, his voice a rough thread. “Or couch. Or wall. I’m not picky.”

Kip laughed against his skin, the vibration sending another shiver through him.

“Choose fast.”

Scott didn’t answer with words. Instead he pushed Kip away just enough—the distance needed to lace their fingers together and pull him through the dark apartment, a blind and urgent run across the living room. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. The wide white couch was in the way, and that’s where they fell, their bodies sinking into the generous cushions in a tangle of limbs and breath.

The gas fireplace on the opposite wall cast a dancing orange light across the scene, the artificial flames competing with the real heat radiating from their bodies. Shadows climbed and fell along the walls in an intimate ballet while the rest of the apartment remained submerged in darkness.

Scott covered Kip with his weight in a deliberate, possessive motion. Bracing his forearms on either side of his boyfriend’s head, he lowered his lips onto his—hungry, voracious, as if he needed to devour him to prove this was real. He felt the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the last barrier of clothing becoming more unbearable by the second.

“I want to fuck you,” Scott murmured against Kip’s mouth, his voice rough, the words slipping between kisses, “but I also want you to fuck me… hell, I’m going to die.”

He lowered his mouth to Kip’s neck, nibbling the skin, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Kip gasped, a deep drawn-out moan vibrating in his throat, his fingers sliding slowly into Scott’s hair—not pulling, just stroking, savoring, as if he wanted to memorize every touch.

“I’m not going anywhere…” Kip answered between breaths, the words coming out broken. His chest rose and fell rapidly, dark eyes fixed on Scott’s while the firelight painted golden reflections in his irises. “We can do both.”

A pause. A slow smile.

“Now get completely naked, Scott.”

Scott tilted his head, an equally slow smile answering the command.

“Yes, sir.”

What followed was a messy choreography of impatient fingers and stubborn fabric. The remaining pieces flew in opposite directions—one sock landed on the lamp, a pair of briefs caught on the foot of the coffee table unnoticed. Until finally there was nothing left but skin.

Warm skin, soft, already beginning to shine with the first layer of sweat. They looked at each other for a moment—just a moment—in the orange half-light, and there was something sacred in that brief silence. Then Scott moved, and the quiet broke in the wet sound of another kiss, deeper, slower, as hands began exploring territories the rush of the playoffs had kept quarantined for far too long.

The couch creaked softly beneath them. The fireplace crackled in the background. And outside, New York shone, completely unaware of what was happening in the penthouse.

Scott’s mouth left Kip’s lips to begin a slow pilgrimage down his body. First the jaw, where he placed light kisses that contrasted with the urgency of moments earlier. Then the neck, where the skin still burned from fresh marks. The Adam’s apple, which bobbed under the touch of his tongue. The chest, where Scott made sure to give attention to each nipple—first the right, then the left—until Kip began writhing against the couch.

“Scott…” The name came out like a warning, but also a plea.

Scott ignored it. He kept descending. Past the ribs, feeling each one under his lips, across the abdomen that tensed when his tongue traced the line leading to the lower belly. Finally, when he reached the hip, he lifted his eyes to meet Kip’s—dark, glassy, curls scattered across the arm of the couch.

“Want me to keep going?” Scott asked, voice rough, breath warm inches from his skin.

“If you stop now, I swear I’ll—” Kip didn’t finish the threat. Scott didn’t give him time.

He closed the final distance and took him into his mouth.

Kip’s moan was muffled by the forearm he brought to his lips, but not enough—Scott heard it, felt the vibration, and it only drove him on. He started slowly, almost lazily, his mouth warm and wet, working to tease, to draw out the moment. His tongue traced circles whenever he rose, exploring, relearning every inch as if for the first time.

Kip let his head fall back, eyes closed, breathing dissolving into broken sighs. One hand found Scott’s hair, fingers sinking into the strands without pulling—just holding on, as if he needed an anchor.

“Fuck…” Kip whispered, his voice faltering. “You’re so good at this…”

Scott answered with a movement that made Kip arch off the couch. He increased the rhythm, but only slightly—keeping a slow, deliberate pace, each descent deeper than the last. The sound was obscene in the apartment’s quiet, mixed with the crackle of the fire and their heavy breathing.

“Like that…” Kip murmured, fingers tightening in Scott’s hair. “Keep doing that… I’m going to come in your mouth if you keep going…”

Scott groaned in response, the vibration pulling an involuntary spasm from Kip. Slowly, very slowly, he began to speed up—but still keeping control, still dictating the rhythm that Kip followed with increasingly unrestrained moans.

After a time that could have been minutes or eternity, Scott rose again. He left a trail of wet kisses on the way back up until he found Kip’s lips in a kiss that carried the taste of both of them.

“I want you,” Scott whispered against his mouth. “Now.”

Kip laughed weakly, eyes still half-closed.

“Are you asking or ordering?”

“Both.”

Kip shoved Scott onto his back against the couch in a quick movement, reversing their positions. Now he was on top, dark eyes roaming over his boyfriend’s body stretched beneath the firelight.

“Get ready,” Kip said, his voice low. “Because I’m going to fuck you so well… I’m going to watch you fall apart before I even touch you again.”

Scott gasped, his body reacting before his brain could process the words. Kip leaned over to open the coffee table drawer—because yes, he knew where Scott kept things—and came back with a bottle of lube and a condom.

“You’ve become an expert in my apartment, huh?” Scott teased, his voice cracking at the end.

“I know it better than you do.” Kip replied, spreading lubricant over his fingers with studied calm. “Now open your legs.”

Scott obeyed.

The first touch was almost delicate—just one finger, circling, teasing, before finally entering. Scott held his breath, eyes locked on Kip’s, who watched him with an intensity that made the air thinner than the physical touch.

“Relax,” Kip murmured, leaning down to kiss Scott’s forehead. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The second finger came when the first was no longer enough. Scott moaned, hips moving involuntarily, seeking more. Kip kept the rhythm slow, patient, fingers moving in a back-and-forth that seemed designed to drive him insane.

“Does it hurt?” Kip asked softly.

“No,” Scott answered, voice strained. “Just… need more.”

“Patience.” Kip smiled, pure mischief. “You said you wanted it slow.”

“I lie.”

Kip laughed but didn’t speed up. He kept that deliberate, torturous pace while his other hand stroked Scott’s thigh, stomach, chest—always touching, always teasing, never quite giving him what he truly wanted.

“Kip…” Scott moaned, the name sounding like a lament.

“I’m here.”

“You son of a—”

Kip silenced the insult with a kiss as a third finger found its way inside. This time Scott truly moaned aloud, the sound echoing through the empty apartment, and Kip smiled against his lips.

“There.” he whispered. “Now we’re ready.”

Kip withdrew his fingers slowly, and Scott groaned at the loss—an impatient, almost irritated sound. Panting, he watched as Kip tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on with the calm of someone who had the whole night ahead of him. Fresh lubricant was spread with long strokes, and Scott had to look away for a second not to lose control entirely.

“Look at me.”

Kip’s voice was low but firm. Scott obeyed, meeting the dark eyes fixed on his.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Scott swallowed.

“Yes.”

“How do you want it?”

“You idiot.” Scott grabbed Kip by the shoulders, urgency and irritation mixed together. “Fuck me already or I swear I’ll—”

Kip cut the rest off with a kiss—and in the same heartbeat, he began to enter.

Slow. Unbearably slow.

Scott held his breath, fingers digging into Kip’s back, his entire body stretched along that thin line between waiting and fullness. He felt every inch, every tiny advance, the delicious pressure spreading outward through his body.

“You’re so tight…” Kip murmured against Scott’s mouth, his voice breaking halfway through. “So warm… feels like you’re going to swallow me whole.”

Scott tried to respond, but only a drawn-out moan escaped when Kip pushed deeper. His boyfriend’s hands gripped his hips firmly, preventing any movement, any attempt to rush what was inevitable.

“Relax.” Kip kissed the corner of Scott’s mouth, his jaw, his neck. “I’m taking care of you. Let me take care of you.”

“You’re… torturing me.” Scott managed, voice thin.

“I am.” Kip admitted without shame. “And you love it.”

Scott didn’t deny it. He couldn’t.

When Kip finally buried himself fully, they both stopped for a moment—just their heavy breathing filling the silence, eyes locked, the firelight dancing across sweaty skin. Scott felt Kip’s body against his, every point of contact electric, and knew that if he died right there he’d die happy.

“So beautiful like this…” Kip whispered, almost to himself. “Mine. All mine.”

“Always have been.” Scott replied hoarsely. “Now move.”

Kip smiled.

And started to move.

At first still slow—a rhythm less about speed and more about feeling every motion, every friction, every sound escaping Scott against his neck. Kip’s hands never stopped: one on Scott’s hips guiding the pace; the other in his hair, tugging occasionally just to hear the moan that followed.

“Like that?” Kip asked, far too innocent.

“More.” Scott answered through clenched teeth. “Deeper.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Kip…”

“Ask.”

Scott buried his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder, biting the skin in frustration and desire.

“Please.” His voice came out muffled. “Please, deeper.”

Kip obliged. The thrusts deepened, the rhythm still controlled but the intensity doubling. Scott moaned loudly, unashamed, legs wrapping around Kip’s waist to pull him even closer.

“That’s it,” Kip whispered, forehead resting against Scott’s. “Like that. So perfect… so good… look at you, all open for me…”

“Stop talking,” Scott moaned, though the words lacked conviction.

“Why?” Kip sped up slightly. “Don’t you like hearing how beautiful you are like this? How much pleasure you give me?”

Scott bit his lip, his eyes threatening to roll back.

“You do.” Kip continued mercilessly. “You like hearing it. Like knowing you’re only mine. My captain. My champion. My gorgeous little slut.”

The sound that escaped Scott was almost a sob.

“Yeah…” Kip increased the pace again. “That’s it, go soft for me… let me take care of you…”

“You’re an idiot.” Scott managed, though the drunken smile betraying the insult said otherwise.

“And you love me.”

“I do.”

Kip sealed the confession with a fierce kiss and finally abandoned any pretense of control. The rhythm that followed was wild, urgent, the sound of bodies meeting filling the apartment alongside their increasingly unrestrained moans. The couch creaked beneath them, the fireplace crackled indifferently, and outside New York kept shining with no idea what it was missing.

“So close…” Scott gasped against Kip’s mouth. “Don’t stop…”

“I won’t.” Kip answered, voice strained with effort. “I want to see you come. I want to see you fall apart for me.”

“I already have, you idiot.”

“More.”

Scott felt the orgasm rise like a wave—slow at first, then overwhelming, taking everything with it. Kip’s name tore from his lips in a cry he didn’t try to muffle, his entire body tightening in waves as pleasure flooded every inch of him.

Kip followed seconds later, a guttural groan buried in Scott’s shoulder, hips still moving as he emptied himself.

Afterward, only silence remained. Their heavy breathing. The distant crackle of the fire. Scott felt Kip’s weight on top of him, the heat already beginning to turn uncomfortable—but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

“Fuck, I missed this…” Scott murmured, voice exhausted.

Kip laughed softly against his chest.

“Tell me about it.”